


you stood in the light before me.

by riskbreakered



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riskbreakered/pseuds/riskbreakered
Summary: Of all things Beau hates in that moment, the worst she thinks must be the cold.





	you stood in the light before me.

Of all things Beau hates in that moment, the worst she thinks must be the cold. Adventuring in the thick of winter takes its toll on her eventually -- her limbs feel heavy, as if the chill has stung all the strength from them. The Mighty Nein enter what this small village considers an inn with their boots and furs caked in snow.

The adrenaline from battle wears off on the cart ride in and so Beau lets herself simply grouse at the back of the party. After all, and this is her first and biggest mistake of night, she's grown used to their habits when traveling. Her eyes linger on the fire at the common room's large stone hearth and not at the deals being struck at the counter. 

She relies on Fjord for that. She _expects_ to sneak upstairs with Jester and to fall face-first into a warm bed, drowsing off to the faint sounds of ink being put to paper. (Whatever the fuck it is she scribbles in that journal to the Traveler, Beau can't guess.)

So when Fjord smacks a room key into her palm, she barely stays for a round of ale before making her way upstairs. It's not until she's standing in the dim-lit hall, fighting with the stubborn lock with a string of half-sighed curses, does Beau even start to notice what's happened. 

"Do you need," the awkward pause makes her glance over to the person coming up the stairs, "some help with that?"

Beau yanks at the key but it's already jammed firm inside the lock. Yasha comes up to her and points to the door. There's a small moment where they look each other in the eyes, then back down quickly to the key.

"Yeah, no, shit's cool over here. I was just..." 

The half-assed lie dangles in the air for a moment, before Yasha puts her hand over the key and just--

\-- _SHOVES_ her way in, shoulder-fucking-first, the old wooden door swinging back in a creak of defeat.

"No shit!" Beau gapes into the room, impressed, and almost forgets her previous embarrassment. She crosses her arms and (remembering Fjord's encouragement) tries to be polite. "I mean, thanks."

Yasha glances back into the hall, almost looking sheepish. "Ya, I was only worried, if you're not good with the sleeping arrangements, you know, I could...downstairs for tonight..." She looks down and mumbles something, her long hair dangling down in her face.

_What the fuck_ , Beau thinks to herself, somewhere between question and exclamation. Her mind is exhausted but eventually it manages to string together the clues.

"Hey wait," Beau pipes in, "naw we're cool, man. Take whatever bed you want, alright?" 

She nods and gestures for Yasha to go inside the room. Not entirely without some enthusiasm.

After some private deliberation, Yasha seems to agree and steps in first. Beau follows behind, her mood in a shocking sputter upwards, and she nudges the asshole of a door closed behind her. She turns around.

"Oh, fuck."

Admittedly, it's a nice room. Small enough to be considered cozy, with an oil lantern burning warmly on the nightstand. Beau notes the chair and small table, the clay pitcher and basin for washing...

And the single bed taking up a wide bearth against the opposite wall.

Yasha is faced away from her and Beau can only stare and imagine the tension likely going through her whole body. 

She tries to think of something diplomatic and charming to say (what would Fjord do?) and reaches desperately at nothing. Shrugging off her travel pack and bo staff, she sets them over the pegs on the door. The wooden staff smacks against the door and the sound envelopes the awkward silence at once.

Yasha jerks into alertness. She glances over her shoulder briefly before warily attempting to remove her greatsword as well. "I...I don't mind sleeping on the floor," she says, and softly enough where Beau strains to catch it.

"Shit, I'm sure we can work something out."

She shrugs out of her damp fur cloak, feeling less sure of that by the moment. Easing herself in an awkward position at the very end of the bed, Beau finally finds a moment to really take stock of her post-battle wounds.

(A momentary, useful distraction.)

Brushing aside her open robe, her hand touches against dark, jagged claw wounds -- kind of badass in their own way, while also being a little painful. Beau decides they aren't deep enough to cause problems for the moment, and shrugs the issue away.

She glances up.

Yasha, too quiet, has also taken notice. She's made it halfway across to her, the expression on her face cautious and unreadable. "Should I go and find Jester?" She gestures to Beau's wounds.

Beau feels her stomach start to sink. "Huh, no, this--" she moves her robe to try and cover it somehow "--it's just a few scratches."

They meet each others gaze again, and Beau feels a weird sudden scratching in her throat. Fuck. She coughs into her fist, "Pretty badass looking though, right?"

Yasha doesn't agree or disagree, she just quietly closes the distance between them. Beau is still perching at the end of the bed as she watches Yasha settle down on her haunches in front of her. 

"It might get infected, so I could maybe...do you mind?"

Beau is focusing on Yasha's outstretched hand, while Yasha is focusing intently on Beau's wound -- and neither is exactly keen about making further eye contact. When Beau nods, however, the gesture is caught just the same.

She isn't sure at first about what's going to happen. Even if her mind could focus. Instead she watches, her mouth clamped shut (for once), as Yasha gently places her hand over the wound. Beau can feel her own frown -- and it lifts, just as Yasha's hand begins to emit a soft glow of magic. 

She feels the dull ache of her wounds begin to subside. 

_Well, shit._

Beau inhales sharply, remembering faintly that she should breathe. The sudden motion is enough to gain Yasha's attention and she quickly pulls her hand away. 

Yasha stands up and moves to the other side of the bed, but Beau keeps looking down to the where the wounds have now vanished.

She puts her hand across her stomach absently.

"That's uh," she tries to find the right words, "that's pretty fucking awesome."

Yasha doesn't reply. Beau looks over her shoulder at the other woman, but it's hard to tell what she's thinking. (Regret, something says, and she throttles it back down.)

She frowns again, this time in thought. Bouncing her way over the bed, she tries to arrange the pillows into some kind of polite-looking barrier. Beau perches on her knees, looking over the bed.

"Should be fucking big enough for two I think," she blurts out quickly. Yasha turns around and looks over what she's done. 

"I mean, I don't..." Beau scratches the back of her head, frustrated at herself. "Unless, like, you don't want to..." 

She glances over to the door. 

But the weight of Yasha on the bed is impossible to ignore. She stretches out, very slowly and awkwardly, over but not under the covers. The sight of it reminds Beau of the times they took watch when making camp. Quiet, but alert. 

She imagines Yasha reaching over to pet a now-absent orange cat, but instead she merely moves to take off her shawl. 

Beau wonders what to do with herself. Eventually she decides to shrug out of her own outer robe, nearly tossing it on the floor before aiming it sloppily towards the chair. She moves to undo her hair ribbon as well, fussing over the knot more than usual before her hair finally spills down in a tangle. She sets it on the nightstand.

By the time Beau is settling herself under and not over the covers, Yasha has already moved herself into a sitting position with an open book.

There's too many things at work to decide if Beau is disappointed or relieved -- instead she tries to make out the book's title.

" _Etiquette and Manners_ , huh."

"It's... interesting."

Resting her head back on the pillow comfortably, Beau wrinkles her nose.

After a while, when Yasha turns a few pages forward, Beau is surprised to find a flower she recognizes. She speaks up too quickly to hesitate.

"Cool shit! Those flowers bloomed around my hometown every spring."

Yasha shifts at that confession, looking over at Beau. "They're nice," she agrees. After a few moments to decide, she asks in a thoughtful voice, "Is it...still home for you now?"

Beau shifts a little at the question. Looking over to Yasha, the warm lamplight near the bed seems to dance in her eyes. 

It's only the personal question that she manages to stumble over. "Naw, not for me." 

Beau is the one to look away first, and she shifts around to lie on her other side. To give Yasha some reading privacy, she reasons.

"Goodnight," she manages, the words coming out rougher than she intends.

"Oh," Yasha says, and Beau can hear her fiddle with the next page. 

And afterward, more quietly. "You too, Beau."

*

She drifts off, dreams.

Beau sits cross-legged in the grass. It's warm and humid here. Not exactly unpleasant, but the sky overhead churns with clouds that promise a heavy oncoming rain. 

There's not much here she recognizes, nothing but rolling fields that stretch to the horizon. She feels the first drops of water against her bare arms and sluggishly moves to stand.

Not that there's anywhere to go. It's freedom, in a sense, but the longer she's here the deeper she feels this...presence around her.

The discomfort continues with the rain. It grows heavier while she walks, dampening her robes, beading down her neck. Stubbornly, she tries to ignore it.

Lightning cracks down in the distance, and it's with this light that she's able to spot the figure up ahead. The person isn't facing her, so she can't be sure, but the wings--

Beau's jog turns quickly into a run, regardless of the damp, muddy earth cloying to her boots. It's hard to see, in between the steady streaks of lightning. But when she tries to call out to the figure, her voice is lost in the rain.

Thunder shakes world around her, in warning or proclamation, again and again.

She keeps running forward--

*

The heavy knocks against the door jar Beau awake. Springing out of the covers and onto her feet, not unlike a surly cat, she instinctually goes straight to the intrusion.

The door opens a crack, enough for Fjord to see her expression. "The fuck?!"

"Mornin'," he says, and that particular drawl makes her face even more perturbed. "We're all heading down for breakfast. You're welcome to join...if you ain't busy."

She curses again and slams the door. With an extra punch for good measure, Beau turns back to the room. Whether or not she'd been similarly roused awake by the intrusion, Yasha is now already up and moving. 

"Breakfast, downstairs," she explains, watching as Yasha moves around the room to collect her things. Beau hesitantly walks over to do the same.

Though she isn't exactly a morning person (or afternoon, or...), Beau stares down at the blue robe she's picked up and tries to think of something useful to say. That isn't, inherently, an expletive.

"Sleep okay?" She tries sounding cool and nonchalant. 

Yasha slings her greatsword over her back, apparently thinking the matter over seriously. She gives a small nod to Beau and meets her eyes.

"I did."

Beau weighs the response. This time, her smile feels nothing but genuine.


End file.
